


i know i'll never die alone because of all of you

by bellawritess



Category: All Time Low (Band)
Genre: Based on an All Time Low Song, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kinda fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Rating for Language, Songfic, hotel room talks, how to write atl in 2006 without writing all the offensive jokes they were no doubt making, i feel like it's a specific vibe, i think that should be its own tag. like kitchen fluff, i think/hope the canon of the time is accurate but if it's not then just like. pretend, of sorts, specifically let it roll, takes place in 2006, this genre is called:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Alex just wants it so bad. He wants itsobad, probably more than anyone in the history of the world has ever wanted anything. And even if Mark Actual Hoppus looked him dead in the eyes and told him that All Time Low would never make it, Alex doubts he would back down. This is all he has, all he wants. If the band amounts to nothing, Alex will just have to, like, sell his body.This job has everything he could possibly ask for from a job: friends, travel, and the chance to play music all the fucking time. If he has to fight tooth and nail to keep it, he will.
Relationships: Jack Barakat & Alex Gaskarth, Jack Barakat/Alex Gaskarth, i wrote it with jalex in mind and isn't that enough, this can be read as gen but like
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	i know i'll never die alone because of all of you

**Author's Note:**

> so i listened to let it roll sixty-four (64) times last night. that's three straight hours of let it roll. i think i unlocked new emotions? i don't think any mortal being is supposed to listen to let it roll that many times at once. but. i did and this came of it
> 
> BUT i decided to post it at a normal hour for once (instead of at . 6am when i finished writing it fdhgfkgdmfgj) so here! i think i heard the first lines of the song one too many times and i was like well, that's a fic. and then i wrote this instead of working on the other thing i want to be writing that i HOPE to have done before the end of the year. so anyway. yeah.
> 
> shoutout [helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin) who read this in like three seconds and then said lots of nice things about it AND helped me with the title. i love you and i have missed having your enthusiastic but reliable feedback on my fics (blushy smiley emoji)
> 
> also like it says in the tags, you can read this as gen if you want to, because it does kinda read like gen, but i don't see why on earth you would. also a cool fun interesting fact that you get to know now is that this fic takes place two years prior to the release of low by flo rida. heartbreaking. anyway let's move on
> 
> title is obviously from let it roll and without further ado...............yeah. read it <3

Alex can’t sleep.

These days, he can never sleep. What with all the travel and songwriting and performing and the chaos of it all, sleep is the last thing on his mind. On any of their minds. The drive to make the band a success keeps them all flooded with adrenaline all the time. They’re lucky to get five hours. 

But this is a different kind of sleeplessness. Rather than a general sense of excitement, this is a very specific type of wakeful energy. It’s their first time in California as a band, and it could make or break their career as a band, instead of some one-and-done East-Coast flash in the pan.

They have a show tomorrow. Alex needs to sleep.

Sleep does not agree with this.

It’s half past four when Alex finally gives up. He’s been tossing and turning for hours, trying every trick in the damn book to get to sleep the way his bandmates have done. He can hear Zack snoring up a storm, which, while annoying, doesn’t usually keep him up, but for some reason tonight even counting sheep has done nothing. So Alex surrenders.

If he’s going to be awake _anyway,_ he might as well get something out of it.

Careful not to wake Jack, with whom he’s sharing a bed tonight, he slides out of bed with his pillow and retrieves his songwriting notebook from his backpack. 

It’s going to be a challenge to write down lyrics in a pitch-dark room, but he’ll have to cross that bridge when he gets to it. First he has to come up with lyrics, anyway, and he’s got a few ideas that have been rolling around his mind, more feelings than words, but isn’t that what songwriting is? Putting feelings into words, somehow finding a way to say something criminally overdone in a completely new way? Anyone can write about a new experience. It’s figuring out how to compellingly rewrite the usual stuff that’s the mark of a really gifted songwriter.

Alex doesn’t know if he’s quite there yet, but he’ll never know unless he tries.

He hesitates, standing in the middle of the room, before inspiration strikes and he heads towards the door of the hotel room. There’s a little bit of hallway light slipping through from under the door. Optimistically, Alex tosses down his pillow and then lies down on top of it, notebook open before him. The light from the hall is _just_ enough that he can see the lines on the pages, but that’s all he needs. Perfect.

Now if only he could come up with _lyrics._

Surely there’s something out of the — the, like, messy, gritty, anxious disaster of his mind that he can extract and articulate. Another city, another state, and the band could last forever or it could be a one-hit wonder or it could be a _no_ -hit wonder. They could trip and fall flat on their faces here and never make it. This is their first time to Cali; it could be their last. The music industry is ruthless, Alex has heard it time and again from everyone and their mother. Nobody ever suggests being a musician if you want job stability. In fact, most people actively discourage it. Even Alex’s parents, who have come around, would probably be happier if he were going to college and getting some boring, practical degree. Law or business or even fucking film would be better than nothing.

Better for them. Not better for Alex.

That’s the thing, though. That’s the heart of the problem. Alex just wants it so bad. He wants it _so_ bad, probably more than anyone in the history of the world has ever wanted anything. And even if Mark Actual Hoppus looked him dead in the eyes and told him that All Time Low would never make it, Alex doubts he would back down. This is all he has, all he wants. If the band amounts to nothing, Alex will just have to, like, sell his body.

This job has everything he could possibly ask for from a job: friends, travel, and the chance to play music all the fucking time. If he has to fight tooth and nail to keep it, he will.

_(And if it’s not enough?)_

Maybe there are too many thoughts, or maybe it’s just too early in the morning to be lucid, but Alex still can’t seem to find the words. He scribbles down some piecemeal thoughts, but nothing rhymes and it’s all stupid and vague, and he’s not even being productive with his sleepless night. Fuck.

There are slow footsteps behind him, then someone drops down at his side. “Hi,” Jack whispers.

Alex groans and buries his face in his pillow. “Hi.”

“Why’re you blocking the bathroom?”

“I’m not blocking the bathroom,” Alex whispers, turning his head so Jack can hear him. “You can still get to the bathroom.”

Jack pats his shoulder. “True. One sec.”

He gets up and steps over Alex into the bathroom. The door opens and shuts and the light clicks on. Alex puts his face back in his pillow.

A minute later, the bathroom door opens and closes again, and Jack once again lies down at Alex’s right. “Bro. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t _you_?”

Jack makes a face, which Alex only sees because he’s tilted his head just slightly as a compromise so Jack can understand him. “I needed the bathroom,” he says haughtily. “Your turn, asshole.”

Alex makes a face back. “I just couldn’t sleep.” After a moment, he admits, “Too many things in my head, I think, maybe.”

Jack hums. “Not Zack’s snoring?”

“Well it’s definitely not helping,” Alex says wryly, and they have a quiet chuckle together.

“He sounds like a fork in a garbage disposal,” Jack says affectionately. Alex shakes his head, smiling a little despite himself.

“Least you didn’t have to share a bed with him,” he points out. “Poor Rian.”

“No, I just had to share a bed with the fucking insomniac.” Jack kicks his foot against Alex’s calf. He’s teasing. “So come on, tell me the thoughts.”

“The what?”

“Well, you said you had too much in your head to sleep,” Jack says. “If you talk about it, it won’t be in your head anymore, and hopefully you’ll be able to sleep.”

Alex squints. “It’ll still be in my head. It’ll just be in your head too.”

“I have magical thought-sucking powers. Just try it, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I stress _you_ out.”

“Nothing stresses me out.”

That’s very much not true, and Alex could prove it, but he decides to spare Jack. “Seriously, Jack, it’s not — there’s nothing worth talking about.”

Jack sighs. “Move over,” he says, shuffling towards Alex. Confused, Alex obliges. Jack shoves himself against Alex’s side and turns onto his back, dropping his head onto Alex’s pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Now lie down.”

Alex huffs. His energy for being a little bitch to Jack just ‘cause is quickly dwindling, so he decides to save the last of it for emergencies and mirrors Jack’s position. They just barely fit side-by-side with both heads on Alex’s pillow, and Jack loops their arms together to conserve space, although Jack does that even when there’s plenty of room so maybe he’s just doing it to be cute. Or something.

“Now,” Jack whispers into the darkness. “Tell Dr. Jack what you’re thinking.”

Alex sighs. “No.”

“Alex! Tell me.”

Alex doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t want to sow doubt in the band or dampen Jack’s spirit, but he _does_ want to tell Jack what he’s thinking as a general rule, because Jack’s his best friend and best friends don’t keep secrets, even secrets like this. The dichotomy wars for a moment in his mind, but eventually the latter wins out, and Alex sighs again.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just…nervous,” he mumbles. “I mean, we have some momentum, but is it enough? Like, we could fail so easily, you know? And it’s not even that we’re a bad band —” 

“Even though we are.”

“Right, even though we suck and are the shittiest band ever, specifically our lead guitarist,” (to which Jack elbows him), “it’s just that even good bands tank. There are probably hundreds of bands out there that totally rule but that we’ll never know about because of any number of reasons why they didn’t make it. And we might be one of those. It doesn’t — it doesn’t _feel_ like we will be, but it probably didn’t feel like it to them, either.” Alex exhales. “Like, the success we’ve had so far might be too good to be true and we just haven’t realized it. And I don’t want to be this, like, naive starry-eyed kid who gets told we’ll go far only to wake up and discover we’ve been double-crossed. Or even that we’re just not good enough.”

“Well, we’re definitely good enough,” Jack says. “And look, even if all the hotshots are lying, who cares? If it means we get to play another song, write another album, perform another show, then whatever, let them lie. It’s only doing us good.”

Alex hesitates. He tries to make sense of that, but it _doesn’t_ make sense. Shouldn’t they want to be good? _Aren’t_ they good? “I don’t — I don’t get it.”

“I mean, look, our band is good,” Jack says. “So…if _we_ think our band is good, and our fans think our band is good, then who the fuck cares if the record people think we’re bad and are just lying? They could think we’re the worst band in the world, but they’re still the ones allowing us to make music. And dude, basically everyone whose opinion matters has said that our music is awesome, _because it is,_ and they won’t go back on that shit now. We’re not making different music. If they liked the shit on _The Three Words_ and _Party Scene,_ they’ll like the new stuff. Which means that the people who got us this far will definitely have our back for at least a little longer.”

“But that’s not forever,” Alex says desperately. “That’s the thing. Okay, so they let us make another album. If that album does badly, we’re done for, probably. We could just flop at any time.”

Beside him, Jack shrugs, and the movement drags Alex’s sleeve up. “Okay, so one album does badly. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We —” Alex splutters. “We get, um, I don’t know, dropped from Hopeless and blacklisted from every major label because we made such a shitty album that nobody wants to sign us again?” 

Jack laughs quietly. “Okay. That’d be pretty bad. Realistic, though. Like, Hopeless won’t drop us because even _we_ can’t fuck up an album that bad. Worst comes to worst, we can always release ‘Sticks, Stones, and Techno.’”

Alex laughs, hitting Jack in the stomach. “Rian would actually quit the band if we did that. We would need a new drummer.”

“ _Good,_ ” Jack says vehemently. “Rian’s a shitty drummer. We need a new drummer. A hotter one, preferably.”

“You really don’t think Rian’s hot? He’s gonna be so disappointed.”

“I didn’t say that, I just said if we’re already replacing him we might as well get someone hotter.”

“Fine, fair enough.” Alex breathes another laugh. Amidst the jokes, his stirring anxiety has settled. He’s pretty sure that was Jack’s intention. Feeling better, he asks softly, “Do you really not worry about this stuff?”

There’s a quiet pause. “Yeah, I don’t know. Not really.” Jack sighs. “I mean, I just always remind myself that…you know, nothing’s permanent. Everything could crash and burn at any moment. So like…there’s no point in making myself crazy trying to predict the future. All I can do is my best right now, and if that’s enough then great, and if not then that’s life. I’ll figure it out. _We’ll_ figure it out.”

This is a weirdly insightful thought for Jack to have. It’s one of those rare moments when Alex wonders why Jack isn’t writing more of their lyrics. Or any of their lyrics. Alex frowns, pensive. “It doesn’t bother you that your best might not be good enough?”

“Well, it’s good enough for me, and for you, and for the band,” Jack says. “I can’t control how anyone else feels about me. All I can control is myself, and what I do, and how good I am.” He shrugs again. “Which is _not very._ But at least I’m fully to blame for that.” Shifting onto his side, he looks Alex in the face. “I would hate to be inside your head, no offense. You just gotta stop trying to guess the future, man. Let it roll. Chillax. Whatever happens, happens.”

Alex rolls his eyes a bit. “Now you just sound like a stoner.”

Jack waggles his eyebrows. “Who says I’m not one?”

They both laugh — Jack can joke all he wants but they’re all way too wary of getting addicted to anything to try any drugs — and the noise masks the sounds of footsteps, so when Rian appears in Alex’s line of sight, his heart stops.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, hand flying to his heart. “You scared me, you asshole.”

Rian crosses his arms. “You _woke_ me, you asshole.” Scanning the two of them, he says, “What’s up? Are you guys making out?”

“Why, wanna join?” Jack asks, grabbing Alex’s face and planting a loud kiss on his cheek. He turns to Rian. “First kiss free, price of the second kiss depends how good you do in the first one.”

“Pass,” Rian says. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Alex volunteers. 

“Bathroom,” Jack explains.

“Okay, neither of those things explains why you’re on the floor,” Rian says, “but if you’re cuddling then I’m joining. And so is Zack.” He turns, and in a more normal volume says, “Zack! Wake up! Important band business! Emergency band meeting!”

“Very big deal!” Jack contributes. “One-time offer! Prices lower than my grades!”

“That’s not possible,” Alex says. “Nothing could be lower than your grades.”

The loud, rhythmic snoring comes to a halt, and after a moment, Zack’s groggy voice says, “Why am I — what’s going on?”

“Get up and come over here,” Rian says. “We’re doing a band cuddle.” He turns to the bed and grabs Jack’s pillow, tossing it down on Jack’s left and lying down.

A pause. Sheets rustling. Footsteps, again. Zack appears, disgruntled and half-asleep. “I fucking hate every single person in this fucking band,” he grumbles.

Jack waves at Zack with his free hand, grabbing at air as if to pull Zack closer. “Come cuddle me,” he coaxes. “Rian will cuddle you.”

“I was gonna cuddle _you,_ ” Rian says.

“Well, I want Zack to cuddle me,” Jack says. “Come _on,_ Zack, get the stick out of your ass and come join our manly cuddle puddle.”

“Jesus Christ,” Zack huffs, but he squats down and crawls in between Rian and Jack on the floor. “We could do this in an actual bed, at least.” 

“We were already on the floor,” Alex says, leaving out the fact that he’s the reason they’re on the floor to begin with. 

“Alex, you’re gonna have to turn over if you want to be part of the cuddle chain,” Jack informs him. Alex very much wants to be part of the cuddle chain, so he does as Jack says, though it means unlinking their arms and lifting up his head to put it back down on Jack’s bicep. Jack’s other arm curves around Alex’s stomach, fingertips grazing his stomach where his shirt rides up. On Jack’s other side, Alex can hear Zack and Rian shifting around to get settled, and then feels Zack’s hand come to rest on Alex’s waist as his arm crosses over Jack. Zack’s reach is comfortably the combined width of Jack and Alex; the knowledge makes Alex smile.

The doorway is just barely big enough for the four of them to lie down, but spooning like this, they make it work. Alex doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but he feels himself growing tired and his eyes fall shut of their own accord. 

It’s strange, but Jack’s method has worked; Alex feels lighter, less encumbered by the anxious thoughts he so often entertains, and he’s got Jack’s arms around him and his best friends all on the floor with him, cuddling for the sake of cuddling. It resets his priorities, reminds him what really matters, because bands come and go but friendship is forever, as cheesy and lame as that sounds, and Alex knows that as long as he has these three idiots he’ll never be alone until he dies.

He falls asleep to that thought, lulled by the steadiness of Jack’s breathing and the comfort of his best friends at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for coming to my ted talk let it roll fucks alex gaskarth has no taste come say hi on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) thanks okay love you bye


End file.
